An Arrow Through the Heart
by Bura-sama
Summary: Kenkeru suicide. Yaoi, death, implied sex, first person present tense. *It doesn't hurt. I always thought that it would hurt.*
1. Quintessential Quiver

1833  
Bura-sama  
Sunday, March 31, 2002  
Sunday, March 31, 2002

Disclaimer: Digimon belongs in no way to me. I'm making no profit from this sicko story. Really, I'm not. I don't own the characters, I'm merely using them for my sick and twisted fantasies, and no infringement is intended.

Warnings: This is a Kenkeru (Ken x Takeru). This fic features homosexual situations, implied sex, profanity, mutilation, death, suicide, light bondage, and horrible use of writing in the present tense. You have been warned, and any damage this fic might do to your mental stability is strictly your own fault.

Notes: I really have no clue where this came from. I've never read a Kenkeru in my life, and I never intended to write one that didn't involve syphilis. I guess I dedicate this to my sister. She's the Kenkeru fan... actually Kaikeru, but there's only so much I can do. :) I hope no one else has one just like this -- I really don't feel like being accused of stealing...

An Arrow Through the Heart

_Chapter One_

The moonlight floods onto my body, washing it in a dusky blue. My eyes are barely open, yet I can still see everything. My clothes are lying in a disheveled heap on the floor. 

So are his.

I close my eyes as I feel the warm body next to me push itself closer. It feels justified and right. The events of last night are still so fresh in my mind. As my eyes remain shut, I can see them all play out so slowly. The clothes being ripped off our bodies, the grunting and moaning as his mouth licks a path from my navel and well down below. I always knew he was a little whore. I can see him pinned beneath me as he squirms. He's crying out my name over and over again until his cries and pleas just turn into one guttural groan.

My body burns with these thoughts...

The thin white sheet is wrapped around my body, tangling me closer to him. He's not asleep, I can tell even though his eyes are closed and his breathing is even.

I look down on my exposed chest to see six thin welts running downward on my skin. The scene where his fingernails are scratching me raw floods into my mind and I tremble. I can see his hand next to my face. It's tied to the bedpost with a lacy white scarf. There are red marks on his wrist where he's tried to pull out of it sometime during or after sex. I momentarily consider untying him, but decide against it.

I reach over to the desk next to my bed and grab something. Although I roll back into my old position, I can't seem to be comfortable. The bed seems to have shifted, and it takes me a moment to realize that he has rolled onto his side -- facing me.

I slowly move the object back and forth so that the moonlight reflects off of its smooth surface. I feel the blood in my body turn cold as if it is made of ice. A shudder ripples from head to toe. I prop myself up on the pillows and look down at the boy at the side of my bed. "Takeru?"

He opens his dazzling blue eyes and stares at me without another word being spoken.

"Takeru, come up here." My voice sounds cold and commanding even to my own ears.

After a moment of hesitation, he moves up to the head of the bed and sits next to me, legs folded under him.

"Not like that." My tone is still sharp and unforgiving. I don't feel this way inside, I can't understand why I sound so pushy. I reach toward him and grab his ankle, a half-whispered gasp escapes from his mouth as I pull his foot to my other side. He eventually gets the hint and moves so that he is straddling me. "Much better."

Now the moonlight clearly illuminates his naked body, and I groan. He looks so thin and almost sickly as the blues reflect off of his pale body. He has a mark, a scar, that runs from the top of his right shoulder across his back to the top of his left hip. It's a fresh mark, and my blood pounds harder. "What happened?" He blushes and I instantly know. "My, my, my, Takeru. You really are a little whore."

He blushes even harder despite his glare.

I reach up and run my fingers along his silky smooth skin, following the reachable parts of the scar without actually touching it. "You sell your body, never knowing just what someone is going to do to it." He shudders under my touch.

I look up at him in the moonlight, and I smile. "How much would you charge to let me cut you?"

He looks away as the color from his blush drains from his face. I raise my fingers up into the empty space between us. The razor blade in my hands gleams dangerously in the blue light. "How much would you charge to cut me?"

He looks back with a confused and shocked expression on his face. "What?" That is the first word he's spoken to me since he was crying out my name during sex.

I immediately change the subject, although my fingers still toy with the blade. "Have you ever called out the wrong name during sex?" I don't even know where that question came from.

He looks downcast and I put the dull side of the blade against his skin. He tenses.

"I suppose it wouldn't really matter to your... _customer_. They're not paying you for your voice."

I push the blade against his skin so that it scrapes it but doesn't break the skin.

"Stop it, Ken."

I merely grin and drag the blade up to his throat. "Stop what? This conversation or this foolish little dance with the razor." I turn the blade around so that the sharp side is pressed against his motionless neck.

"You know what I mean." The movement nicks his skin and a single drop of blood rolls from the cut.

I lick it off of his skin.

He's shaking visibly as I pull the razor away and wipe the trace amounts of blood onto my sheets. I take one hand and gently cup his face. He stares at me. I move my other hand to the razor and hold it out for him. "Your turn."

He doesn't move.

I take my hand from his face and forcibly put my hand around his. I pick up the blade and tighten his fingers around it. One hand clenches the sheets as the other guides his from my shoulder to my elbow. I moan at the stinging feel as the shallow line of red blooms on my arm. It doesn't hurt. I always thought that it would hurt. Takeru doesn't resist my movements, but he doesn't take over like I thought he would. As I reach to move to the other arm, his hand stops mine.

His golden blond head dips down to my arm and licks off the thin trail of my blood. I jerk and moan as his tongue laves at my wound. With my other hand I forcibly bring his head closer. He isn't making any noise, and I sound like a bitch being fucked.

That has to go.

I flip him over to his back. I'm reminded that one hand is still tied behind his back as it folds beneath him at the elbow. I grab the other hand and jerk it to the same bedpost the other one is tied to. I pull another scarf from my underneath my pillow and tie his wrist to the other. I climb onto his stomach so that we are imitating the roles we had just moments before. He looks up at me with wide blue eyes.

The cut on my arm is bleeding. I don't care as it drips onto my crisp, white sheets. I move my hands down to frame his face. I can feel my body humming to life as I lick the spot next to his ear. He doesn't react. My fingers hook into his hair and I give it a sharp pull.

He still doesn't react.

"Takeru." His eyes look almost emotionless. "Takeru." He finally looks at me. "Do you love me?"

That got a reaction. He vigorously tries to buck me off of him, but I won't move.

"What the fuck, Ken?! How could you even ask me that?" For some odd reason, his words sting me.

I slap him hard across the face. "Of course you wouldn't have emotions like love. You are after all, just a _lady_ of the night."

He scowls at me and I slap him again. I'd never really slapped someone before, so the stinging palm came as a surprise. I have always been taught that women slap and real men punch. Somehow punching Takeru doesn't feel right.

I violently shove his legs apart and settle myself between them. I reach for the razor blade and, for the first time that night, he struggles against me.

His hips are bucking and his feet are kicking at me. I don't have another scarf to tie his feet down with. I push the razor against his thigh, and lightly trace a path down to the soft spot at the back of his knee. His thrashings have stopped. I can't bring myself to cut his perfect skin. I look up to see a dark trail racing down his neck and I almost feel guilty.

"Fuck this." My words shock me as I move myself from my spot between his legs and resume straddling him.

Sometime during our little game the sky had darkened to an almost black-colored blue. I could just see Takeru's outline and of course the ever-present blood that ran from his neck and my arm.

I reach over to the desk next to my bed and deposit the razor blade there. I clumsily jerk open a drawer and reach for what I know is inside.

The metal feels cool and heavy in my hands. It's dirty somehow, tainted with something I don't really want to put a name to. I want to drop it and run to the bathroom to wash my hands clean. Takeru doesn't know what I have although he will soon enough. I grab the metal in one hand and reach back to the desk. My hands return with a neatly folded envelope. I couldn't remember what exactly was in it. My life savings -- which wasn't much, and a note to my family and a note to my friends. I throw that envelope onto Takeru's exposed chest.

"Ken?" His voice is so quiet that I can barely hear it. "What are you doing, Ken?"

"You sell yourself, Takeru. I would feel really bad if you didn't get paid." My voice is almost breaking.

I'm sure he heard the change in tone because I can see his sparkling blue eyes blink up at me in the darkness. Then he closed them and looked away from my piercing stare. I sure hope that my stare was piercing and not guilty. I hope that Takeru looked away in intimidation rather than pity.

The clouds are starting to drift away from the moon. I can see the pale blue light once more starting to flood into the room.

I knew the instant that Takeru opened his eyes. His body was absolutely still as he realized that he was staring down into the barrel of a gun. I push it against his temple and he tries to scoot away. "Ken..."

I bring the gun up to my own temple and look Takeru in the eyes.

"Sayonara, Takeru... you damn bitch..."

I pull the trigger and fade into darkness as I hear Takeru's anguished cries.

_It doesn't hurt like I thought it would..._

=======================

------ No, it's not finished. I have another chapter to write.


	2. Broken Bow

2315  
Bura-sama  
Tuesday, April 2, 2002  
Tuesday, July 30, 2002 

Disclaimer: Digimon belongs in no way to me. I'm making no profit from this sicko story. Really, I'm not. I don't own the characters, I'm merely using them for my sick and twisted fantasies, and no infringement is intended.

Warnings: This is a Kenkeru (Ken x Takeru). This fic features homosexual situations, implied sex, profanity, mutilation, death, suicide, light bondage, and horrible use of writing in the present tense. You have been warned, and any damage this fic might do to your mental stability is strictly your own fault.

Notes: I've had the stirrings for this fic for a while now, but haven't really gotten around to completing it. It gets **weird** and **morbid** in here... but I'm satisfied with it enough. Its' certainly not how I planned to end the thing. This is 'dedicated' to my sister and all of my reviewers from part one. Thanks.

An Arrow Through the Heart

_Chapter Two_

I pick up the phone and dial the same number I've been dialing for days.

I can tell by the silence that he didn't answer. After a moment, her voice cuts through the phone, "Takeru, is that you?"

I sigh into the phone and absently run a hand through my unbrushed blond locks. "I'm sorry I called again, Mrs. Ichijouji."

"That's all right, Takeru. It's good to know that you're doing okay."

I hear my voice start to waver as I speak again, "I'm sorry I keep calling like this, Mrs. Ichijouji."

"Takeru --"

"No, please let me finish, Mrs. Ichijouji. I keep calling, thinking that Ken is going to answer the phone." I hear his mother choke back a sob. I lose my nerve and want that conversation to be over. "I'm sorry I made you cry, Mrs. Ichijouji. I won't call again." I immediately hit the power button on the phone and drop it to the floor.

I really won't call again.

I've called there so many times that it's pathetic. Ken's mother pities me; his father ignores me.

I can't say that I blame him. If my son's body had been found lying naked atop another boy that was tied down to the bed, I wouldn't have been happy either.

I move my hand down from my hair and look at the red marks still on my wrists. Lace is a lot more abrasive then people realize. After over an hour of trying to pull out of the scarves Ken had tied me down with, don't I have an excuse to be sore around my hands? No one understands. They think I tried to hurt myself after Ken did it.

I would never.

I roll onto my bed, and stare up into the ceiling. I pick up the cell phone again, and start to dial another phone number. I stop before the second digit is pushed, and cancel the call. Yamato won't be much help now. I try another number, and cancel the call before hitting the 'send' button. Hikari would be a sympathetic ear, but she wouldn't understand. None of them understand my relationship with Ken. 

They think I was his prostitute. They wouldn't be wrong. I'd had a "relationship" with Ken for about two weeks. It hadn't been very profitable, but it had been somehow different from my other... clients. 

I throw the cell phone into the wall, and it lands with a soft thud on my carpeted floor. 

I reach down onto the spot next to my hip, and pick up the crumbled, bloodied letter. I open it up and look at the smudged writing. I can't read it anymore without the lights on in my room. Darkness has encroached on my world without my noticing, and only a faint stream of purple light remains in my window. It's not as dark as it was the night Ken pulled the trigger. 

I don't know why it bothers me so much. I've lost other childhood friends. Miyako in that car wreck a few years ago... Daisuke in that horrible drug overdose just after graduation... They didn't hurt me like this hurt me. But of course, they didn't write me a letter like Ken wrote me. They didn't literally die in my arms just hours after having sex. They didn't leave me ten thousand yen and a scribbled note that proclaimed, "Best I ever had." 

Ken's mother took the money, of course. 

But the money didn't matter. That sarcastic note didn't matter. But... the letter mattered. 

_Takeru, I can't believe this is it. How can this be the end of our adventures together?_

The phrase from his letter surfaces in my mind, and I try desperately to block it out. I don't need to be hearing this. 

_When we were children, everything was wrong, and I was _so_ selfish. I guess it's time for me to be selfish again._

The words bring to mind the images of Ken holding the gun against his temple. I'm sure his father wishes that he hadn't given it to him now for protection when he moved into that sleazy apartment two years ago. 

_I'm sure you're going to wonder what has caused me to do it. I'll tell you. I'm not going to lie to you, Takeru. You are the--_

I bring my hands up to my face and try to block the words from stealing across my mind. I'm not reading the letter! I'm not reading the letter -- why should I still be able to _hear_ him reading each word?! 

I crumple the letter into a ball and throw it off my bed. Again. I drag myself off of the bed and pick up the scrap of paper. Again. I unwrinkle it, straighten out the creases, and stuff it back into the envelope. Again. The letter is shoved under my pillow. 

While I'm up, I pick up my battered cell phone and stare at the display. Hikari's number is still on the display. I push the send button, and jump when the phone begins to ring. I hit the 'power' button before the call's complete, and toss the machine haphazardly onto my bed. I don't need to trouble Hikari right now. 

I look out the window again, and stare at the full moon. A thin layer of gray clouds moves between us, and I look away. It's still not as dark as when Ken pulled the trigger. 

I close my eyes and try to sleep off that vague feeling in the pit of my stomach. That nasty feeling of premonition that I had had before going to Ken's apartment. 

_ "Fuck this."_

_ "Ken?" A pause. "What are you doing, Ken?"_

_ "You sell yourself, Takeru. I would feel really bad if you didn't get paid." _

_ A gun waving about in the air, only it's not a normal gun, it has a supernatural glow to it. "Ken..."_

_ "Sayonara, Takeru... you damn bitch..."_

_ A loud bang and his body is jerked roughly._

_ "No! Ken!"_

My eyes open without hesitation, and look at the clock. It's been three hours since I fell asleep. It's odd. The nightmares usually don't bother me so soon. 

I look out the window, and smile slightly. The rain has come, and now it is dark enough. The moon can't be seen, and I can hear the heavy downpour on the window. Tonight's the night that Ken will finally be laid to rest. 

I leave my bedroom and silently walk until I reach the kitchen. There, on the floor next to the refrigerator, is a cardboard box. It's labeled simply, "Ken." I open the top flap and pull out the cool metal of the urn. It's so empty. So dead. 

There's an inscription on it. _He saw the light and died in the darkness._ I wonder who had it written. It obviously wasn't his parents -- they had been so confused when they first saw it. I tuck the urn under my coat, and slip on my shoes before leaving my low-rent apartment. 

The air is cold in the heavy rain. The rain is actually rather warm, but the wind makes it freezing as it touches my skin. Ken had told me once, so long ago, that he longed to rejoin his brother. I am going to see it happen. Ken's mother wanted his ashes scattered in the digital world. She didn't know much about it -- couldn't have known that he'd never find peace there. 

I've never been to his brother's grave, so it takes me a little while to find it. The rain's heavier, if possible. I tug off my shoes before walking to the grave, and instantly regret it as the cold seeps through my feet. But wearing shoes just doesn't feel right for some spiritual reason I can't stick a name to. 

I read the lettering on the tombstone, _Osamu._

I remove the lid from the urn and prepare to throw Ken's ashes all over his brother's long-undisturbed grave. They scatter in the wind and blow right onto my soaking wet body. Horror and the feeling that I'd just done something sacrilegious fill me with a kind of paralysis. Most of the ashes fall onto the ground although some still stick to my skin and clothes. 

I empty the urn and set it down respectfully in front of the tombstone. 

I try to shake off the ashes that are still clinging to me, but fail miserably. Turning from the gravestone, I pull on my shoes over my muddy feet and run from the cemetery. Nameless tombstones blur by me until I can see the still locked gates in the distance. I shouldn't have broken in. I shouldn't have climbed the fence because now I won't be able to get back over it. 

I try anyway and end up clawing at the iron bars. It feels like I'm in a jail. I collapse against the gate and wait for the rain to stop. Ken's letter slips into my mind. 

_You are the reason I did it, Takeru. I want so very much to be able to do what you do. Not the whoring. Not the sex. But the free will. It's something I've never had my entire life. I was always the puppet. For my brother, my parents... for whatever digimon was plaguing my existence. I've never had the choices. When I realized that you did... I was so envious. You did what you wanted and no one was going to stop you. It wasn't always the best choice you made, but it was still _yours_ to decide._

_ I saw you and your free will, and I knew I would never have it._

I shut my eyes against the words. Ken and I had never shared a close relationship. He'd never turned to me for help or advice. He was my friend... or maybe just an acquaintance. 

The rain slows down to a drizzle, and I can see well enough to pick the lock on the gate. The doors open, and I ease through. 

I start my long walk back to my apartment, and let the rain soak into my clothes. The ashes are like a paste on my skin. It makes me nauseous to even think about it. Odd... I was never the one to feel squeamish. 

I reach my apartment and lock the door behind me. I collapse down on the couch and feel chills race through my body. My soaking wet clothes are ruining the furniture, but I don't care. Mom would care, though. I roll off the couch and fall to the floor. I can clean the carpet later. 

I'm going to be sick. I can feel a fever coming on and the headaches are beginning. I pull the clothes off, and deposit them in a wet pile in front of my bathroom door. I turn on the faucet in the bathtub and wait for the water to get scalding hot. I step into the shower and what's left of Ken's ashes swirl down the drain. The water is too warm for my liking, but I'm not about to turn it down. 

_Mother's not going to understand why I did it. Father is going to disown me. Not that it will really matter to me from beyond._

_ I wonder if I'll see my brother when I die._

Ken's letter was winding to a close. I could see it in my mind as I scrubbed the soap all over my body. 

_You probably don't want to hear this, Takeru. I can understand that. You want to know why I'm leaving you my suicide note. Yes, this is my real suicide letter -- not that sappy piece of shit I left everyone else. Well, Takeru... I've never had any semblance of a relationship with you. I was one of the team. I hesitate to even call you my friend._

I wish that I was your friend, Ken. I had a very loose rule in my little "code of work ethics." I never had sex with my friends. It was just too weird. If Ken had been my friend, I wouldn't have been the one there when he died. He might not even have died. 

The soap is long gone from my body, but I still stand there against the water. I collapse down to my knees, and vaguely realize that the water has turn cold. I contemplate just sitting there forever, when I notice it. 

A steady stream of blood is swirling into the drain. Alarmed, I look over my body until I realize that the blood is coming from the cut Ken gave me on my neck. Odd... that has scabbed and healed over days ago. 

"Takeru... what are you doing here all alone? Slow business week?" I turn to the door to see Ken leaning against it. In one hand he's holding the razor blade. In the other, the gun. 

I can't speak. Words won't come. I merely stare at him and wonder... 

He leaves his spot by the door and sits down on the rim of the bathtub. "Nothing to say?" 

I shake my head and reach to cut the water off. I don't need this hallucination. 

His hand stops mine and pushes it back to me. "Leave it on." 

The water is now an icy cold, and it's torturing my skin. "What are you doing here?" 

"When I... moved on..." He bites his lip, as if searching for the most appropriate phrasing. "I realized that you were desperately in need of my help." 

Confused, I just stare at him as he raises the gun and points it to my chest. "... Ken?" 

He pulls the trigger without further warning, and the cold bathtub bangs against my head as I fall. It's a cold, piercing feeling. It hurts... feels... 

... like and arrow through the heart. 

=======================

------ There. Finished. Did Takeru die? Was Ken really in the bathroom? I'll leave that to your imagination. :)


End file.
